


Informal Diplomacy

by mrwonderwoman (saete)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Forbidden Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Pining, Smoking, a sense of justice vs strong integrity, but it's lowkey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saete/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: A senior White House Correspondent befriending the Chief of Staff should be a career boon, but lately Clint's been finding it to be a source of mild heartache. The fact that Phil has taken to surreptitiously kissing him in free, private moments isn't helping the matter. Especially since Clint knows that it can't go anywhere while they both still work at the White House. Not to mention, he doesn't even know if Phil has feelings for him. He tries, instead, to focus on maintaining their friendship and keeping his job.Phil, however, isn't so inclined.





	Informal Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who loves political AUs. Thanks to [Laura Kaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurakaye/pseuds/Laura%20Kaye) for help with the title. 
> 
> This is a generic political AU but it's based on a scene from s1e13 of The West Wing (#Danny+CJ4ever)
> 
> I just watched All That Heaven Allows and those Thoreauvian values really got to me - I couldn't not have an ending where they seized their happiness and destiny.

 

 

"Yeah ... okay ..." Clint listens to his editor on the other end of the line as she gives him imperatives he'd already planned on executing. He doesn't tune her out, but maybe the verdant lawn he's looking out across is equally holding his attention, even in the dark. The hum of crickets is a little on the nose, though. He rubs at his forehead. 

"Okay," he says at the appropriate moment, "Okay, yeah. Will do. ... Thanks." He brings the phone down from his ear and hangs up. He sighs. 

The snick of a lighter cuts across the air. Clint turns to find someone standing at the other end of the walkway, their head bent and their hand cupped around an orange spot of flame. Huh, he hadn't heard the door creak when they came out. That's what you get for working at the White House - everything superficial is in pristine condition. 

Before Clint has a chance to politely make his presence known, the figure takes a puff of smoke and deflates. It's like watching a steel beam collapse.  _Coulson_ , Clint suddenly recognizes, even at this distance in the dim light. It makes him hesitate another moment longer. 

Phil leans forward against the low, decorative railing as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his ring finger and thumb. There's a strange grace in the slump of his shoulders and the shape of his hand - the way he has the cigarette held between his first two fingers. Clint can't remember the last time he saw Phil this ... unguarded.  It makes standing at this middle distance - close enough to observe and obviously unnoticed - feel like he's intruding, even in the shared space of the porch. He tucks his phone into his pocket and steps closer. At the sound of his footsteps, Phil straightens up, but flatteringly, he relaxes a little when Clint comes into the light. 

"Mr. Chief of Staff," Clint greets. 

Phil exhales a mouthful of smoke. "Mr. Barton," he replies at the end of the breath, through the wisps. It sounds less tired than he was expecting, and Clint finds that he very much likes the way it looks. 

He watches silently as Phil stares back out at the yard and taps off his ash. He'd intended to go back inside and leave Coulson in peace, but that's not exactly his M.O. And Phil looks like maybe he could use an ear right now. He hitches his hip up against the railing and follows Phil's gaze. 

Phil takes a deep breath and a drag from his cigarette. 

"Rough day?" Clint asks. 

"Yeah," he says, smoke spilling from his mouth. It's polite and beautiful. "Has it been obvious?" he asks quietly, looking out at the lawn. 

Clint shakes his head, "You covered well." Clint hadn't guessed there's been anything weighing on him until just now. But what he says is, "I could just tell because you didn't grab me and kiss me even once."  He wants to smile a little but he keeps his tone even and his gaze directed out at the grounds. "Usually, you do that when you're feeling cocky. My running theory about it is that you think you can get away with something extra on good days."

Phil deigns to turn his head and look at him, "Usually?" He crosses one arm across his chest and uses it to prop the one with the cigarette up close to his mouth. 

Clint shrugs one shoulder and meets his eyes, "That first time you didn't seem so cocky."

"That first time, you were the one who kissed me," Phil says, the filter of his cigarette brushing the bottom of his lip. Clint's stomach flutters. 

They acknowledge it - the grabbing-and-kissing thing - even if they don't do anything about it. That's not what Clint's excited about. It's pretty pathetic, but Phil giving him more than the time of day, entertaining him when he has every right to just dismiss Clint, is something he has yet to get tired of enjoying. 

And sure, Phil's made it pretty clear that he's not unattracted to Clint and Clint's obviously attracted to him, despite the staggering number of turned down dates. It's become a game for him to ask and a joke for Phil to say no. At least, Clint hopes that the rejections are only because they both know it's not really kosher for them to want or try for more, given the nature of their respective jobs. 

The election is still months away, but it's about as sure as these things get. Clint's already resigned himself to a second term of secret kisses in stolen moments. It took him long enough to get to this point and he's waited nearly four years already. What's four and a half more? Clint can't quite imagine scoring with anyone else so far out of his league. He'll still be willing to try.  

Granted, what they've got now - what Clint has now, what he gets from Phil isn't much. But it's enough to give him hope. So they stick to being friends and coworkers who share kisses like they're repeating fight-or-flight reactions. Like it's an act of convenience that always lacks the meaning Clint so badly wants to assign it.

Because it does lack meaning. Repeatedly kissing at random intervals is kind of strange for two coworkers to keep doing over and over when it doesn't change anything. It's only been a month since that first kiss and nothing's changed so far. They both come to work and do their jobs. It doesn't stop them from gravitating towards each other when they're in the same room. It hasn't increased that, either. He keeps asking Phil for dates when there are other people around. They still spend time together. It's why he's here, now. 

"If you say so," he replies, his tone just a little smug but overshadowed by the uptick he can feel in the corners of his mouth. He's proud of having shaken a little of whatever cloud had been hanging over Phil's head when he'd come out here. But he doesn't have anything else to add, and Phil takes another puff of his smoke, and silence falls again. It reads like Phil's still sort of mad. Not at Clint. Just in general. 

Clint lets his expression soften, "You wanna talk about it?" 

Phil looks at him again, almost appraising, and Clint adds, "Off the record?" in an attempt at a joke, but it doesn't quite land. 

Instead of reacting, Phil looks down at his shoes and flicks the ash off the butt of his cigarette without a word or change in expression. Clint watches, trying and failing to get a read on him.  

It's a study in contemplation when Phil leans against the column behind him and looks back out at the yard. Clint is content to watch. To listen to the crickets and the silence, until Phil is ready to speak. He cuts a handsome figure in the play of shadow and light across his body. In the way his silhouette stands against the white of the column. It's enough to make Clint appreciate something about neoclassical architecture. 

Phil's demeanor doesn't change when he finally asks, "Do you ever think about ... the balance of power?"  The phrase comes out sounding foreign and postured. "And freedom without ethics?"

Clint shakes his head, "Like what?"

"Like ... " Phil starts, then smirks, "like with superheroes." Clint finds himself smiling a little too, and maybe he can see a touch of self-depreciation in Phil's expression now. 

Phil thumbs the end of his cigarette, "How there are some of them who can't kill or don't see circumstances with any casualties as an option." His smile gradually slips. "What lengths they have to go to to get around their moral codes. Or to get them to work." He rolls the wrapped paper between his fingers like he might take another drag. "The villains are the only ones who ever seem to get anything done."

And now Clint thinks they're not talking so hypothetically any more. He nods, and Phil looks at him.

 "Yeah, I guess ... the good guys are the ones stuck in limbo, always trying to keep everything in check."

Phil taps off his ash. "There should be a better way. There should be a few lines that are allowed to be crossed."

Clint's taken aback - where is this coming from? Whatever's possessed him to argue this now probably isn't good and probably needs negating. Clint can try his hand at being the morally superior one for once.

"Who's supposed to decide that?" he questions. "If they go too far, what would keep them in check?" He feels like he's playing Phil's conscience now - like he just parroting what he knows Phil's opinions on this stuff to be. Or his usual ones.  "There is such a thing as too much safety and supervision."

Phil faces the lawn again and takes a drag. 

"What we've got is not enough," he sighs out the words with the smoke. "It's the little things that fall through the cracks."

The topic feels suddenly too big for Clint. He doesn't think he has the grounds to say anything, because Phil's obviously talking about something specific and he's also kind of right. Even as vague and abstract as he's being about it. Clint turns to look at the distant black rails of the perimeter fence.

"That's what we get for our forefathers having to make up the rules on the fly," Clint hears himself say.

He feels Phil look at him and returns the gaze. He shrugs, "We're supposed to do the best we can with what we've got." It's a lame excuse, but it applies here. He looks back out at the fence. The White House lawns after dark are maybe the quietest place in Washington. All his years coming and going here and that's something he's never gotten used to. He spares his friend a glance; the cigarette sits dull and still between Phil's fingers. At the moment, Phil looks about the same, but he's going to have to be the one to make the next move. 

Clint can wait him out.

"... What would you say if I had a story to leak to you?" is how he finally breaks the stillness.

“Phil,” Clint intones, closer to dismissive than a warning. 

“There’s a family,” he continues, dropping his arms and tilting his head towards Clint. 

“Phil, stop,” Clint says, more seriously and stepping closer.

“No," Phil straightens and stands away from the column, "Let me-“

“Do you really want to do this?” Clint asks, even as Phil’s expression hardens.

"There's a good source, and a real story-"

"See, you say that -" Clint tries to say over him.

“-if you leave for Reagan now you might still catch them at the terminal-“

He continues to shake his head and step closer, “Phil, Phil, your job-”  

“I don’t even have to give up a name-“

Clint reaches out to put a stilling hand on his forearm, “That’s worse, you can’t-“

Phil squares up, “All you need to know is-“

" _Don't_. Phil- don't." 

“-to ask them about-“

Clint's hand flies up to cover Phil's mouth. As soon as he's done it, he knows he's crossed a line.

The half of Phil's face that isn't covered is marked with persisting frustration and all Clint can do is stick to his guns.

"Phil," he says, earnest and insistent. But the tense moment festers as they stand too near and evenly meet each other's gaze. Clint wonders what things his eyes are conveying. 

The tension breaks suddenly. He watches the defiance melt from Phil's face in the same moment that a gentle hand grabs his wrist. Phil pulls it away from his face and Clint lets him. He lets Phil take a half-step closer, too, even as he has to keep himself from leaning away on instinct because of how close they already are. He hopes for a kiss. 

Phil's hold on his wrist stays loose and slips up to wrap their palms together. He pins them between their chests as he closes the last of the distance and presses his lips to Clint's. 

Clint sighs into the contact and grips back. God, this gets better every time. Phil tastes like his cigarette and it makes Clint feel nostalgic. He brings his free hand up to the side of Phil's neck at the corner of his jaw and tilts his head. The kisses he's used to are hastier, but the usual passion is still here. He tilts his head again, eager to take as much as Phil will give him but afraid to push for more. And then Phil bites his lip.  
Clint manages to withhold any real reaction but he decides to take it as a signal to be brave. He's really into this hand holding thing but if he could just-

He breaks the grip to press his fingers against the other side of Phil's neck. Just to have another point of connection. As soon as he does, there's a scuffing noise - Phil dropping and stepping on his cig to put it out. He grabs two fistfuls of the front of Clint's suit jacket and proceeds to kiss him breathless. They end up gasping into each other's mouths. 

Phil is the one to pull away first. Clint's eyes stay closed just a moment longer. Savoring. But Phil hasn't stepped back - only created space enough for them to look each other in the eye. Clint lets one hand trail down Phil's chest and Phil takes it in his own again. Clint's stomach fills with butterflies. He clears his throat.

"You shouldn't do that again," Clint says. He thumbs the bolt of Phil's jaw, "You can't trust me not to take advantage of you."

Phil leans in with pointed slowness and draws another lingering kiss from him. 

"While I highly doubt that," Phil says against his mouth, "is it the story thing or the kissing that you're trying to warn me off of?"

"Both," Clint says and steals a kiss of his own. "It's tempting fate."

"I know," Phil says quietly. He tilts his chin forward a fraction of an inch like he's about to say something or try for one more kiss but he hesitates on the follow-through. "But it doesn't stop me from wanting to bring truth into the world, or from wanting you."

Clint closes his eyes and unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile. "You never turn off, huh?" He presses their foreheads together, "That's what I like most about you - your sense of justice."

His hand gets a squeeze. " _That's_  what you like most?" Phil asks, then cuts off his answer with a searing kiss. 

Clint is slightly distracted, but exasperated enough to pull back and defend himself; "There are a lot of things I like about you. They-  I-  They get tied for favorite." Clint starts to reel him in again, "That was just what I liked most about you at the moment."

Phil dodges his attempt at more kisses with a smile, "It changes minute to minute?"

Embarrassed and mildly exasperated Clint leans forward, "Ignore what my big fat mouth is saying and just let me kiss you."

Phil acquiesces just long enough for Clint to relax. And then Phil's leaning away and smiling at him. 

"I like what your big fat mouth is saying." Phil smooths his thumb over Clint's lapel, "It's nice."

"Are you being euphemistic?" Clint adds, because of course he's gotta ruin the moment with concern that he's being made fun of.

Phil's smile turns into something  _fond_ , and he shakes his head, "I'm not. The kissing is always nice but I did mean  _saying_ and not  _doing_." He tugs on Clint's lapel. "I like a lot of things about you, too," Phil tells him sweetly, "I admire your integrity." He presses a quick kiss to Clint's cheek. "And thank you. For saving my professionalism."

"Any time," Clint says softly, and with fingertips hooked just behind his jaw, draws Phil back in. 

Phil's hand fists the fabric of his jacket again. With the hold he's still got on Clint's hand, it feels anchoring and special. Clint wants to grab him back, but he's worried about messing Phil's suit up, and aware that both of them are going to have to walk through a minefield of coworkers before they leave for the night. He settles for wrapping both arms around Phil's neck and pressing himself impossibly close. God, he wishes he could make more of this moment. He wishes he could have this all the time. 

Unfettered access is one thing but he can't remember ever having the continuous opportunity to kiss Phil so much. It's too good to question, and it's really starting to work him up. His stance shifts and he can feel the stiff line of Phil's dick, too. Knowing they'll have to go back to being professionals any minute now keeps him from anything bold or lewd, but he doesn't tilt his hips away from the warmth of Phil's thigh either. 

Phil slips one arm at a time under Clint's jacket and around his waist. It's reassuring and intimate. Clint knows he's getting away with something he shouldn't, but he really feels it in this moment. In the clinging and fierceness.

It's a long, lingering piece of space and time that they stand pressed against each other. Clint lets himself think that it might be because Phil wants something more from this too. It's a nice thought. 

They break apart together, as if they both realize at once how far they've let this get. The two of them stay standing close, panting quietly and warily pushing the impossibly long stretch of peace and uninterruption they've been granted. Clint knows the moment is over though. 

Phil takes a breath. 

"I can't go home with you," he says. His hands are still lying like warm brands against Clint's back. 

"I know," Clint tells him, smoothing his own hands down Phil's lapels just to prolong the body contact and sensation of fine silk under his fingers. 

"No, I mean I can't go home with you," Phil says. And the inflection is a little different but it still doesn't mean anything to Clint - he cocks his head.

"I- " Phil looks off to the side, maybe trying to formulate words. His eyes seem big and hopeful when he faces Clint again, "Is there a place I can meet you? Later?"

"Later?" Clint parrots, bewildered.

Phil nods, "After work." His expression is sincere but Clint doesn't know what he's talking about.

"You need to meet with me?"

But asking that seems to snatch some of Phil's certainty. 

His forehead wrinkles, "No, it's not- ..." He comes closer to sounding hesitant than Clint knew him to be capable of. "I'd like to take you on a date. If you'd let me."

"What?" Clint says, stunned. "I'm-  Are you for real?

He hears how much it sounds like a rejection after the words have left his mouth. Phil loosens his grip and Clint's heart dips in empathy as Phil starts to settle away from him, but Clint firms the hold he has around Phil's neck. "Like, you're finally, actually interested in going on a date with me?" he adds. "You really want to?"

Phil goes static, which Clint thinks is better than moving back. 

"I  _have_  wanted to," he says. "But now I'm a bit concerned there's been some fundamental miscommunication, and that maybe I overestimated the times you-"

"I wasn't joking," Clint hurries to say. "God, no, I'm-" he stops himself because he's so close to saying something big like  _I'm so serious about you_. "I just, I've gotten so used to you saying no. Y'know? It took a second to process. That you were serious, I mean."

Phil nods and some of the tension starts to release, "I'm serious," he says quietly. 

"I- I guess I still am trying to process it,"  Clint replies. "It's- ... I almost can't believe it."

Phil stops leaning away from him, "I really wish you would. This is something I've been hoping for for quite a while."

This openness has Clint close enough to speechless that he gapes a little. But he shuts his mouth and gathers enough wits to respond with; "Who are you, what have you done with the real Phil Coulson, and how did you learn to kiss like him?" 

It's such a dumb line and he hates that he's said it but with it, the tentative, uncertain air breaks and Phil laughs. 

He grins, "I'm flattered you think I have a kiss distinctive enough to be recognizable."

Clint stares at him with a crooked, wonder-struck half-smile, "Don't underestimate yourself." He rolls his lip between his teeth. "Seriously, are you sure you're feeling alright? You don't really seem like yourself tonight."

"I'm- ..." Phil looks away thoughtfully for just a moment, "There are lots of things falling into place. A few brave decisions being made." His expression brightens with a new, small grin, "I want in on the action."

Clint scoffs, "When do you not?"

"See - not so out of character," Phil says and his hands firm up against Clint's back. Clint leans into his chest again. 

"Sorry, it's just, you've been- you seem like the kind of guy to put the job first."

"I probably am. But, if you want to go on a date or two and see if you could consider keeping this," - there's a hitch in his breathing but not enough to be called a real hesitation - "mostly away from work, then I don't know why it would be a problem." He sounds like he knows he's pushing it. 

"Phil," Clint swallows hard, "Nothing secret stays a secret on the Hill. You're talking to the mouthpiece for the people - my job's based on bringing information to light."

Clint's glad when Phil doesn't respond right away. It lessens the spur-of-the-moment-ness and his concern of potential future regret on Phil's part. It makes it feel like he's taking Clint seriously. He searches Clint's face and Clint lets him. 

"To be honest ..." he sighs, "I'm not all that worried. Trying to be happy has started to become more important than a lot of other things. And I'd like to try and make you happy as well. I think I could do a pretty good job of it."

God, he keeps saying all the right things. What's Clint supposed to do?

"I don't want you to make a mistake," Clint tries to make it sound like an out. He really couldn't bear it if Phil decides tomorrow or in a week, or a month, or  _ever_ that the two of them being together was a bad idea.

"I'm an adult, I can make my own mistakes if I want to," Phil says, doing nothing to negate Clint's real concerns. 

"Yeah, you are, but I feel like if I say yes then I'm making them for you."

Phil shakes his head, "You're only responsible for yourself and I think you know that."

This is beginning to grow frustrating, "How is it that I'm the one defending the moral high ground tonight?"

"You aren't."

Clint lays him a look.

"You aren't right now," Phil amends, "Not everything is a matter of ethics. This certainly isn't." Clint tries to object, but Phil adds, "Maybe it would be a bigger problem if I were, say, the Press Secretary, but our jobs aren't so directly tied. I think we're both aware enough that we could keep everything above board." 

"You don't think you're oversimplifying it?"

He shrugs like the answer comes easily, "Plenty of couples in Washington have conflicting jobs. And this isn't conflicting so much as it's something that requires discretion and careful handling."

"Compartmentalization," Clint supplies. 

"Exactly." Phil starts to smile again and it makes Clint realize that he's stopped playing devil's advocate for a moment.

"You sound pretty sure about that," he says, pushing for more, but Phil meets him readily.

"I figure the worst that could happen is you get accused of sleeping with me for leads and I get accused of being stupid enough to let you."

"And what if that  _is_ what's happening?" Clint says petulantly. 

Phil smiles at him and it's kind, and warm, and hopeful, "You may doubt your ability to not take advantage of me, but I don't. And besides, I want this, with you, more than I'm afraid of repercussions."

Clint shakes his head, "I still think it'd be more complicated than you've managed to make it seem."

The earnest look that crops up on Phil's face is Clint's new weakness.

"But would you be willing to try? To find out?" he asks.

Clint closes his eyes, "Phil ..." he sighs. That he's thought about their relationship enough to have this faith and belief - this motive to push - it's all Clint wants to ask for. He thinks they should need more than mutual want to make this work, but he's running out of counterarguments and the heart to voice them. 

In Clint's silence, Phil takes his hand again, "Waiting until the end of another term is too much to ask of me." Phil squeezes his hand and Clint looks into his eyes. "And it's certainly too much to ask of you."

"It-" Clint swallows his protest that  _no_ , it  _wouldn't_ because that's a little too pathetic, even for him. "...Are you sure?" he asks instead. 

He can feel Phil's heartbeat and it's as steady as his expression, "I don't want to give up the chance to see where things could go if I let myself get close to you, Clint. I think ... we could really be something together."

Clint's face feels suddenly hot, and his stomach swoops, and his heart is beating in his throat. As if everything else wasn't already enough, the tenderness and promise of what Phil's saying is the proverbial straw to break the backbone of his will.

With a sigh, his eyes close and he leans in for a slow, tender kiss. Phil holds him and keeps giving as good as he gets until Clint pulls away. 

"Is that a yes?" Phil asks. 

"Yeah," Clint answers, gravity and hope steadying his voice. 

A smile starts to bloom across Phil's face. "Where are we meeting?" he asks softly.  

"You always get your way, don't you," Clint teases. 

Phil huffs a laugh, "Hardly." He squeezes Clint's hand, "This feels like a great victory. One we've both won."

Clint feels himself blush, because yeah, it kind of does and it's heavy to hear it out loud. He redirects, "You can meet me at the Starbucks on 23rd at 11."

"The 24 hour one?" Phil asks and it sounds suggestive.

"Don't say it like that - all the other places close at midnight and I'd like more than an hour with you."

"I'm not complaining," Phil defends with a smile. 

"Besides," Clint adds, "it's far enough from here that we shouldn't run into anyone from work."

Phil gets a strange sort of look on his face and then he leans in to give Clint another kiss. 

"Thank you," he says softly, "for willing to be discrete."

Clint heaves a contented sigh and his eyes flutter closed as he moves for another warm kiss. This is a good way to keep Phil from saying strange things until they have more time to talk. 

Something buzzes against Clint's hip and he startles away a half step. Phil takes one arm off of Clint's back and reaches for his pocket to pull out his phone. He checks the screen with a serious expression. 

"Time's up?" Clint asks. 

"I'm afraid so," Phil puts his phone away and looks at Clint again like he's really seeing into him. Clint feels like he's going a little cross-eyed talking this close. 

"I'm surprised we got as much as we did," Clint focuses on how warm his body is where it touches Phil's. 

"I am, too," Phil tells him. "I still wish we'd had more, though."

"That's alright," Clint says, "Go run the free world." 

"I'll try," Phil says, pulling his arm away. He looks like he stops himself from taking a last kiss, so Clint takes his hand and pulls him back in to give him one. He lets go of it when they break away and takes a step back to make leaving easier. Whether that's for his benefit or Phil's he doesn't know. 

"Goodnight," he says, because Phil's still just kind of looking at him. 

Phil starts walking backwards towards the door, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Clint says, warm and certain.

"Yeah," Phil replies, just as sure. 

This time the door does creak when it opens, and Clint's close enough to kind of hear the busy noise that spills out with the light. Phil looks over his shoulder at him one more time before he disappears inside. Yeah, Clint can easily see himself riding this wave of euphoria well into tomorrow. He's going to have happy dreams tonight. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Their first date is wonderful and they stay out way too late so that they spend the next day yawning through meetings and smiling shyly at each other in the hallways.)
> 
> Seriously, I love political AUs. Catch me crying over my massive, unfinished Designated Survivor AU on the daily, y'all. 
> 
>  
> 
> You've reached the end of the line. Thank you for joining me on another tour of the Marvel Universe. Your attention, in addition to kudos and comments, is appreciated. Please exit safely, and mind the gap.  
> You can find me on tumblr at my [ Marvel blog](http://www.mrwonderwoman.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [The Guerilla Kissing Campaign of Clint Barton](https://archiveofourown.org/works/433524?view_adult=true) by [micketysplit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/micketysplit/pseuds/micketysplit)  
> [Nighthawks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10439538) by [mrwonderwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman)  
> [Save The Best For Last](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091764) by [wintermute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermute/pseuds/wintermute)  
> 


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